


(nunc lento sonitu dicunt) morieris

by acroamatica



Series: not from the absence of violence, but despite the abundance of it [1]
Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: 31 flavours of panic attacks, Angst, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Post-Canon, and into the trash heap with me, cw: vomiting, how does hux pass his psych eval? it is a mystery, hux is overdramatic, in painkillers and lack of sleep veritas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-14
Updated: 2016-01-14
Packaged: 2018-05-13 17:52:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,699
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5711578
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/acroamatica/pseuds/acroamatica
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hux has lost everything that matters. What's left will have to change.</p>
            </blockquote>





	(nunc lento sonitu dicunt) morieris

**Author's Note:**

> I am not proud of myself, if you would like to know.
> 
> Dear beta readers: Thank you for being a Star Wars so I could concentrate on the angst and shouting, and for being a psychology so I knew I got the angst and shouting right too. I love you like Hux loves galactic domination.

_Now this bell, tolling softly for another, says to me, Thou must die._

Perchance, he for whom this bell tolls may be so ill, as that he knows not it tolls for him; and perchance I may think myself so much better than I am, as that they who are about me, and see my state, may have caused it to toll for me, and I know not that. [...]

The bell doth toll for him that thinks it doth; and though it intermit again, yet from that minute that this occasion wrought upon him, he is united to God. Who casts not up his eye to the sun when it rises? but who takes off his eye from a comet when that breaks out? Who bends not his ear to any bell which upon any occasion rings? but who can remove it from that bell which is passing a piece of himself out of this world?

No man is an island, entire of itself; every man is a piece of the continent, a part of the main. If a clod be washed away by the sea, Europe is the less, as well as if a promontory were, as well as if a manor of thy friend's or of thine own were: any man's death diminishes me, because I am involved in mankind, and therefore never send to know for whom the bell tolls; it tolls for thee.

\- John Donne, [Meditation XVII](https://en.wikisource.org/wiki/Meditation_XVII)

\----

Hux didn't remember very much of what happened directly after everything went to hell. There was Snoke, and a lot of running, and ozone, and bitingly cold wind and yelling at people to move move _move_ in a way he had not had to yell in years. A shuttle doing acrobatics as he hung onto his safety belts; and Kylo Ren lying in the snow with the crumbling ground underneath him, all black and white and red.

There was nowhere safe to land the shuttle and he had jumped from too high up, landing hard enough to jar his knees and clack his teeth together, not just because someone had to and he might as well but because all of this was his failure and if all he could salvage was one Knight of Ren, more dead than not, it _would_ be done - and he wasn't about to let anyone else do it considering how well letting other people execute his orders had worked for him so far this day. 

As dead as he looked, Ren's blood was still warm as it seeped into Hux's clothes, and his eyes opened briefly as Hux and one of the troopers lifted him. But he had not even life enough in him to protest at being hoisted into the hovering shuttle with Hux's hands ungentle on the back of his head and shoulders, then caught and whisked away into the warm interior. The trooper leapt up, clearing the edge of the ramp, and held a hand out to Hux - the momentary thought gripped him that three steps back and he would be over the edge of the tottering cliff - and then he was in, and wrestling with his straps as the shuttle screamed up and out of the atmosphere, fighting back against everything pulling it into the chaos below.

His head was spinning, and it had nothing to do with the g-forces of the banking and twisting shuttle. How had this happened? How had every single decision point gone against them? How had a motley collection of half-trained backwater peasants left his perfectly drilled, machine-precise troops with their bootlaces tied together and their trousers about their ankles? How had a slip of a girl with the sand of Jakku still between her toes taken down a trained fighter like Kylo Ren? How had they failed, not just at all, but so badly? _How?_

He didn't, and would never, remember anything of the orders he gave that got them safely outside of the blast radius of the imploding planet, his beautiful, beautiful planet, his beautiful weapon, the point of the arrow he had so briefly held to the Republic's bare and trembling throat. He watched it. Had to watch it. Couldn't look away, as the fire he had banked for his enemies came back upon itself. His vision swam and he blinked it clear, swallowed as hard as he could against the knot in his throat (so unbecoming of a general, but what kind of general was he now?), set his face grim and hard to hide whatever might have shown and let the explosion burn itself onto his mind.

He could not even feel relief when the deck of the Finalizer was back under his feet, although the hangar swarmed with shuttles and fighters that had managed the escape from Starkiller Base as theirs had. Ren had been rushed directly to Medical, surrounded by chattering droids that would surely do all they could, and there was nothing he could do to help them. Snoke had provided coordinates directly to the command crew, so they would lose no time in getting clear of the clouds of Resistance fighters as soon as the shuttle was safely aboard. Now the faraway thrum of the engines told Hux they were in hyperspace, and nothing more was needed from him on the bridge either.

There was nothing for him anywhere.

His body ached and his clothes were wet, clinging to his legs and slapping at him as he moved. To his quarters, then, and a change of clothes.

Normally Hux was deeply fastidious, as he had been raised to be. Space was a dangerous place to be messy; clutter was a projectile waiting to happen and uniforms were to be respected. But his coat was sticking to him and he flung it from his shoulders with a sudden overwhelming hatred, to land in a soggy heap on the decking. The soaked trousers were next, torn off as though they burned him and kicked away with his boots; then his jacket and shirt, the cuffs cold and bloodstained and loathsome. Not one second longer could he bear the fabric against his skin, until the uniform he had spent his whole life earning was crumpled on the floor, and he stood naked, chest heaving, in the middle of his spartan quarters, staring at the tumble of black cloth as if it were something poisonous.

A glance up, and his own reflection stared back at him; incongruous, pale, skin sheened with the sick sweat of unacceptable panic; hollow-eyed and hollow-cheeked, hair in disarray from the wind. _A general of the First Order,_ and the thought struck him as so painfully ridiculous that it startled laughter out of him, sharp and unstoppable.

"You were meant - to rule - the _galaxy_ ," he choked out, his father's voice speaking through his own and ringing in his ears, and it redoubled the laughter (if that was what it was) until he was gasping, clutching at his aching ribs and stomach, stumbling sideways to fall into a chair. He tipped his head back against the top of the chair and stared unseeing at the ceiling. What an idea. How had he ever believed it? He couldn't even control one ship. One _man_. Or _himself_ , apparently. One singular mission he had been built for since his birth, and he had had the glory in his hands and let it evaporate, melting away like so much snow.

All at once the laughter left him. He scuffed a hand across his face, dashing involuntary dampness from his eyes.

There was nothing he could possibly do to fix this. No masterful tactics, no backroom planning, not even a stealthy knife in the dark. The only possibility of honour was to surrender himself along with Kylo Ren, to accept whatever justice and punishment would be meted out.

Snoke would likely kill him, he realised. Make a gruesome example of him for the rest of the First Order: _here is what happens when you let Resistance fighters get past your obviously substandard planetary defenses_. Whether or not he'd obeyed every order to its fullest, whether or not Ren lived, the billions of credits of damage and the loss of so much equipment and so many troopers seemed vastly to outweigh the value of his own life, which mostly boiled down to the power of his last name. Not that Brendol Hux would be any too pleased with what his precious son had just done to that. Whatever the Supreme Leader had planned for him, it would almost certainly be kinder and more merciful than what his father would do in his place.

He took a deep breath, which seemed to run into something in his chest and refuse to go any further, and sat up, propping his suddenly throbbing head on one hand.

He should have taken the three steps to the crevasse, let Starkiller claim him, the creation unmaking the creator. It would have been poetic at least.

But that, too, was gone along with every other way this could have ended better for him, so he stood, and bullied his legs into holding him up all the way to the refresher.

After his shower he bundled all the wet clothes into the laundry bin for the droids to collect, and propped his boots up to dry as best they could in the cupboard. There didn't seem to be any point to pretending he was still General Hux, commander of the fleet, but nonetheless he mechanically put on a fresh uniform shirt and trousers, settled his belt around his hips, found his training boots and laced them on. What else was there to do?

His jacket collar, high and tight, felt like a hand around his throat. Never, since he had first been given it, had it fit so badly - as though he himself had changed shape.

He wasn't sure why he went up to the bridge. They didn't need him up there, and the way they all tried not to look like they were looking at him, and then very obviously didn't look at him anymore, made him want to fly out of his skin. They _pitied_ him. Nothing could have been worse.

But it was where he belonged, had this been anything approaching a normal day, and surely someone would want to find him, so here was as good a place as any.

He made himself go to his chair and review his messages, gritting his teeth harder with every one until he thought they'd crack. It went on and on. Section after section, headcounts and loss tallies. _Failure._ Regiment 47 had lost half their troopers. _Failure._ Five of his best colonels were certainly dead, by eyewitness accounts. _Failure._ Nobody from 22, 25 or 27 had reported back at all. _Failure. Failure. Failure._ The turbolasers had been so badly damaged they would have to be repaired in dock. _Failure._

A message - jittery and pixelated - from Phasma, the only good news in a sea of bad. He wondered if she had made it back aboard before Finalizer jumped, but if she had she would message him soon enough and if she hadn't, she knew where to go to find them. She had sounded furious and her armour had been filthy and dented, so whatever she'd been through, it was probably just as well if he gave her some space. Her commanding officer he might be, but he respected her as much as any of his crew and he didn't need to know how she would look at him.

His hands trembled and he clenched them into fists. _How_ had he allowed this to happen?

A droid purred up to his elbow - it held a packet of drink out to him, one of the blends of mostly vitamins and glucose that was meant to serve as an emergency meal replacement. He narrowed his eyes at it, but took the packet, surreptitiously scanning the staff on the bridge to see who might have ordered the droid over to him. One of his senior staff sergeants had suspiciously red ears, but everyone was looking so studiously at their workstations that no eyes would meet his.

Awful syrupy stuff, it was, but he couldn't remember when he'd last eaten. He stifled a sigh, ignored the tightness in his chest, and bit through the corner of the packet, pouring most of it straight down his throat in one go so as not to taste it too much. That would give him something -

 _An army can't run on air_ , his father's voice said in his head, and he swallowed hard as the syrup suddenly tried to come back up. He would _not_ compound this any further by being sick in front of his staff, like some green cadet. It was only nerves, this was ridiculous -

His holoface pinged: Medical had information they needed him to report, as soon as possible, to Supreme Leader Snoke ( _damn it, damn it all, why now?_ ), regarding Lord Ren.

Very well. He would be sick in the nearest available discreet place, then.

One quick sojourn in the refresher later, with his face washed and the scraps of his dignity gathered (though he felt they covered him poorly), he set off towards Medical. No-one in the corridors would look directly at him either, though they saluted as he swept past them.

The droids at least were glad to see him, chorusing "General Hux!" as he walked through the doors.

"Does Ren live?" Hux said hoarsely. Preamble seemed unnecessary.

"General, you are ill," one of the droids said tentatively.

"I am fine," Hux said through clenched teeth. "Ren. Does he live, or must I inform Supreme Leader Snoke of the loss of _all_ of his favourite things?"

"Lord Ren lives still, sir," the droid said, and Hux let out a breath he hadn't realised he was holding. "But he was gravely wounded and his recovery may be long. The damage was bad enough to start with, but it appears it was significantly aggravated by fighting on after the injuries were sustained. We have done everything we can do; he sleeps now, but we fear he will be much weakened for some time to come. He must rest and allow his body to heal."

The idea of impetuous Kylo Ren taking his time about anything was almost comical. "We rendezvous with the Supreme Leader in three days' time. I cannot imagine this news will please him."

The droid bobbed its head in acknowledgement. "It is as you say, General, but flesh has limitations."

Hux eyed the droid. Thoughtless programming, or literally everything conspiring to make him feel inadequate? "You will inform me if he wakes."

"Immediately, General. Can we assist you with anything further?" The droid hovered hopefully; he was very aware of the circles under his eyes and the tightness in his throat.

"I will return to my quarters and rest," Hux said finally, "after I have notified Supreme Leader Snoke of the situation. It would be helpful if a mild sleep aid could be provided." He hated to do it, but as useless as he felt now, he would be even more so if he didn't sleep, and there was no hope of it happening unaided. Especially not after talking to Snoke.

"Of course, General. We will deliver it to you."

"Very good."

Hux weighed his options as he left Medical. The holo units in his briefing rooms were much better, and the soundproofing in them was excellent. Snoke always preferred to appear there when he called. But he was not likely to take this call, and if he did, Hux thought it might be best for what little composure he could muster if he made the call from his quarters and didn't have to try to slink past all his remaining crew afterwards. 

Facing Snoke had always made him nervous. Quite probably the Supreme Leader did that to everyone - in fact Hux was certain Snoke intended it to happen, and capitalised on it - but General Hux of the First Order didn't _get_ nervous, couldn't _be_ nervous, and he didn't like his chances of hiding it today. Especially not in high definition. But eventually, protocol won out, because beaten or not, Hux was still Hux and he hadn't gotten as far as he had by disregarding protocol with his superiors.

He made the call, and to his shock, Snoke accepted the transmission. Hux steeled himself and stood, hands clasped tightly behind his back, to await his doom.

"General," Snoke rumbled. "I hope you have some _good_ news."

Hux swallowed and willed his voice to stay steady. "Supreme Leader, I retrieved Lord Ren. He was badly wounded in battle on the surface."

"I know all this, and more," Snoke growled. "You forget, General Hux, that I am Lord Ren's Master. I can know more of his life than he does, should I wish to."

Hux did his best to suppress a shiver. "I apologise, Supreme Leader."

"What I do not know is why I cannot reach him now." Snoke looked down at Hux from his throne. "Something is amiss with Ren and I will know what."

Hux wouldn't look away, he _wouldn't_. "He is heavily sedated, my Lord. The Medical team thought it best - to allow him rest while his body begins to mend." He swallowed again. It was difficult. His mouth was so dry. "They say he is much weakened, and should... delay any further training." 

Snoke narrowed his eyes at Hux. "I shall be the judge of that. Pain is a strengthening thing for some."

He could feel Ren's blood on his hands still, and the unfairness stung him suddenly - as much as Hux disliked him, no-one could deny that Ren had poured the greater part of his life out on the snows of Starkiller Base just hours ago in the service of the cause. How could Snoke truly expect more of him so soon?

"Is _death_ strengthening, my Lord?" It slipped out before he could stop it and he bit the inside of his cheek hard, staring into the middle distance beyond Snoke's head and waiting, not daring to breathe, for the consequence.

"More often than you might think, General Hux." Snoke let that statement hang. "You will bring him to me."

"We remain on course for our rendezvous, my Lord," Hux said, because that seemed to be all there was to say.

"Good. You will notify me if anything changes."

"Yes, my Lord."

Snoke cut the transmission from his end and Hux reeled, shuddering with the physical relief of not being in that monstrous presence any longer. Loyal he was, always had been, and would be until his last breath, but part of him had been certain Snoke would personally show him the answer to his insolent question. After all, however tenuously, Ren was alive. Of what further use was Hux now?

He leaned back against the wall with his shaking hands pressed to the cold panelling, and closed his eyes. He felt like an empty wine bottle, hollow and liable to shatter, nothing left inside him but vapours and dregs. 

Perhaps Kylo Ren had the right idea - sleep while other people solved the problems.

Sure enough, when he got back to his quarters, the droids had been, and left him a tiny cup with two green tablets. He didn't have time to waste thirty or forty minutes waiting for them to kick in, he decided. Instead he crushed them between his back teeth, a burst of intense bitterness, and chased them with a palmful of water from the tap in the refresher unit.

He barely got his boots off before they took effect.

It wasn’t like he fell asleep, not exactly; but everything was gently melting into everything else and he was melting too, and it was just so much easier to put his head down on the bed and watch as the walls opened up into the stars. They were so peaceful, calm and cold and distant, that he felt himself start to relax.

Then the stars began to explode.

One by one they bloomed, bright and then gone, and every silent explosion stabbed at his heart and stole his breath, a physical pang of horror and loss he felt like a dagger between his ribs.

"Stop," he begged, holding out his hands as though they could halt the carnage, "please - please stop…"

"You know better than that." It was his father, behind him, and he spun around, too fast, lost his balance and fell to his knees.

His father loomed. "This is all your fault. Look what you have done." He hauled Hux around by the shoulder, as if he was nothing more than a child. He _was_ a child. "You’ve ruined everything."

Another dozen stars winked out and Hux whimpered in pain.

"Weak," his father said scornfully, but now he was Snoke, in the robes, standing behind Hux and digging his clawlike hand deeper into the meat of his shoulder. "I always knew you were weak, I was only waiting for you to show how deep the flaw went."

"No, please," Hux sobbed, trying to pull free from Snoke’s grip. Tears poured down his cheeks, blurring the explosions but sharpening the pain in his chest. "You’re killing me, it’s killing me, how can I stop it?"

"It is too late," Snoke said, with such satisfaction in his voice that Hux knew he was lost. Snoke was lifting him, higher off the ground than he should have been able to - he was growing, and Hux was shrinking, and his shoulder sang with pain - and then he let go, and Hux fell, screaming -

He landed hard on the decking, on the point of his shoulder and the side of his head.

Something was wrong, _everything_ was wrong, his cheeks were wet and he didn’t know why. He levered himself up on his hands and tried to catch his breath. The pain in his chest was just his wildly pounding heart -

No. It was more, and it returned in a wave that left him crouched on the decking, trying not to pass out. It was blinding pain, and it was consuming rage, and it was grief that wanted to turn him inside out, and it was -

Not his. This wasn't _his_ -

_Ren._

The pain hit him again, starring out his vision - he was dimly aware he was vomiting, in sharp unproductive heaves, though there was nothing in his stomach to bring up.

He scrambled to his feet, then lost them again in another wave - he bit off most of a yell of agony and frustration, and lay where he had fallen, shaking on the cold floor, waiting for the next one. But it seemed that they had paused for the moment. Perhaps someone had silenced their source, temporarily. It could only be temporary. Nothing short of death would silence Kylo Ren - not even that, perhaps.

Slowly, a growl rising in his throat, he dragged himself up in stages - first elbows under him, then hands, then knees, and then legs. His clothes were rumpled. His face was - it didn’t matter. He scrubbed a sleeve over his mouth and nose and ran, unsteady and stumbling, as fast as he could towards Medical with a red fire of fury hazing his vision.

It was the middle of shipboard night, and if anyone saw him as he pelted down the corridors they had the decency not to call out after him. He burst through the door, wild-eyed and letting everything show on his face, and gasped, "Where is he?"

"General, sir!" The medical droids were appropriately alarmed. "Lord Ren is awake!"

"Thank you," Hux gritted out, "I had noticed. _Where_ is he?"

"Through this way, but he shouldn’t be disturbed, General, he’s-"

Hux ploughed the droid and its twittering associates out of his way and stomped into the next room.

"We’ve had to sedate him again, General, he was most upset-"

Ren was lying on his side, with his back to the room. He was stripped to the waist, but there were so many bacta bandages on him he almost looked clothed.

" _Leave us_ ," Hux barked, in his fleet-commander-est tones. The droids scattered and he hit the door lock to keep them out.

For a moment there was silence, save two people breathing hard.

"Hux," the huddled form on the bed slurred. "I need..."

Hux was struck momentarily dumb. "Need _what?_ " He gathered his words together with difficulty. "And what do you mean by - how _dare_ you broadcast at me like that? What absolute -"

Ren rolled over, and Hux rocked back a step, involuntarily. He had always been pale, but now Hux could almost see the bones of his skull through his skin. His eyes were maddened, gleaming dully with fever and anger and drugs.

"I _must_ know, Hux," he whispered. A ghostly hand closed in the front of Hux's shirt and tugged him towards the bed, and he began to realise that yet again he had made a terrible error. "Tell me you caught the girl. _Tell me._ "

"She escaped." _I let her go._ And how many more times would he have to admit to it? "Supreme Leader Snoke ordered me to find you - there was no time -"

But Ren had heard all he needed, and another wave of rage and pain knocked Hux to his knees as Ren screamed, a wordless roar.

"Lord Ren," Hux pleaded, suddenly truly scared, his own anger lost and overwhelmed by the power of Ren's. "I did as I was _ordered_."

"Do you _know_ what I have lost this day?" Ren was shaking, his jaw clenched. "Do you know what I have _done?_ " The ghostly fist moved to Hux's throat and squeezed so tight he felt cartilage creak. "You miserable excuse for a human, I have struck against our enemies with every fibre of my being, and you have let everything I fought for be _taken?_ "

Hux clawed at the empty air around his throat. He could not speak. He could not breathe.

" _I killed Han Solo,_ " Ren cried out, like a shout of defiance to the entire universe. "I have done this for the glory of the First Order, for the power of the Dark Side - I have done this. _Was it not enough?_ " His voice broke, and his Force grip failed; Hux tumbled to the floor, dark spots swimming in front of his eyes as he coughed helplessly.

Ren was beyond speech now, howling like a child in great tearing sobs that shook his whole body and radiated in sickening waves. Too exhausted to put up any further resistance, Hux curled up and hid his face in his hands; he let Ren's unmastered emotions flood him and gave in to them as he could not give in to his own, the tears finally ripping themselves free of his aching throat. 

_Father,_ rang in his head, a high clear thread of exquisite heartbreak, and it meant something different to each of them, but also something similar, and Hux _knew_ what Kylo Ren had done.

\----

He did not know how much time passed before Ren's wild storm of grief settled and his own weeping subsided - it felt like a very long time - but eventually he was able to sit up and lean against the edge of the bed. 

Ren's eyes were open and he was staring at the ceiling, his mouth still pinched and his eyes badly reddened, though clearer and more lucid. Hux could only imagine what a wreck he looked like himself. It didn't matter now.

"I'm sorry," Hux said, his voice hoarse and quiet. It hurt to speak. It hurt to do anything.

Ren kept looking at the ceiling. "Everything I have done was necessary," he said, sounding like it hurt him as well. "We have lost so much, sacrificed so much. It _must_ be enough." It was both statement and supplication. "I have been blunted, and badly, and I know it; but I will return to my Master and I will be sharpened. And when I am fit to serve once more as the weapon I was destined to be -" He swallowed. "You and I will have our reckoning, General Hux."

"Shall I still be General?" It seemed absurd that things could just go on.

Ren snorted. "I suspect you were General from the moment of your conception and have no capacity to be anything else. Lord Snoke will be occupied with my training; our troops are scattered and our plans are useless. Someone will have to lead the First Order back onto the path to glory in my absence."

Hux was so tired, how could Ren still have the energy for arrogance? But he was needled and would not let it pass. "I should be glad to do it without the thorn of the Knights of Ren in my side."

"Pain is a strengthening thing, for some," Ren said, the teacher speaking through the student's mouth. "Perhaps - I can show you how to let this thorn goad you to greater things."

Hux gave him a long and considering look. "I know something of the value of pain, Lord Ren. But my ways of wielding it are different."

"Nevertheless." Ren turned his head and looked back at him now, with a weak attempt at his usual commanding glare. "There can be no more losing. We must work with what resources we have left, and make those losses at least have some meaning. I will need you at your best, General Hux."

"And I could use you, Lord Ren," Hux said wearily, too raw to be anything but honest, "should you _ever_ admit that on occasion you might be well served by actually listening to the advice of others whose loyalties are as strong as yours. You do not act alone, even though you think you do; and you do not let me help you, nor do you help me, with tantrums and wild chases and half-information."

It was daring, and he fully expected to be choked again for it - but Kylo Ren made a noise that might almost have been a laugh. "Perhaps." He shifted awkwardly against the mattress and Hux realised how many of the bandages had reddened. 

"Let me call a droid," Hux said.

"No." Ren closed his eyes. "I will rest and meditate. I need no further attention from them - what pain I have now will serve to direct my focus."

"Grant me one favour, then." One of Ren's eyebrows rose, though he didn't open his eyes again. Hux got stiffly to his feet, his joints complaining about everything and his whole being dizzy with exhaustion. "We have just over two days until we meet with Lord Snoke. Should you want me, I will come to you, as our time now is short. But please - have the Medical team page me, rather than bludgeoning me with the inside of your head until I give in."

"Fine." Ren's cheeks coloured faintly - that was probably as close as he would get to an apology for that hideous intrusion. It would have to do. 

Hux wondered suddenly - he couldn't imagine - "Did you think I wouldn't have come, any other way?"

Ren didn't answer, but there was a shift to his face that was distinctly sullen.

Hux dragged his palm across his face. "Ren." He let the syllable carry all the weight of what he'd been through.

"You hate me."

Hux actually laughed, a bitter and astonished sound. "As if I would let anything so inconsequential as my personal feelings get in the way of the greater glory of the First Order. We have a _mission_ , Lord Ren. You said it yourself. We may have failed at it, completely and catastrophically, and it is beyond us more than it has ever been before... but it is still ours and we must go on with it. Working alone, we accomplished worse than nothing." The words rang hollowly in his chest. "It doesn't matter whether you think me a puffed-up lackey getting by only on my last name, or whether I find you so frustrating I can hardly see straight. If we can help each other, do you not see that we must?"

Ren opened his eyes, and looked at him for a long time. There was a question in it, but Hux couldn't begin to spare the energy to parse it. Then, well after he'd given up on Ren replying at all, he said simply: "I don't think that."

Hux tilted his chin at Ren, a signal to elaborate.

"About you," Ren clarified, and the faint blush lit up his cheeks again. _No wonder he always goes masked._ "You have value."

Hux didn't really know what to say to that strange, bare, awkward compliment. "Less and less, the longer I stand here. But thank you." He was swaying on his feet. He _had_ to sleep.

"Go," Ren said, oddly gentle. "We will speak more. But later." Hux wasn't certain, having never heard it before, but he thought maybe Ren was trying to be... kind.

"Later," Hux echoed, and disengaged the door lock.

"We will need all our wits about us soon enough," Ren said from behind him. "Rest well."

"I will," Hux said, and mostly out of habit, added, "And you, too."

He could decide later if he meant it. What Ren decided was up to him.

The door hissed shut behind him and he parted the sea of medical droids, ignoring all of them. Anything more complicated than a bed was going to have to wait.

At 0600, when his reveille alarm dragged him back to consciousness, Hux took inventory. He needed water, and something for the bruises he could feel around his throat, and probably another five to seven hours of sleep, were he to be truly honest. But two out of three would have to do. 

There was a whole empire, waiting to be brought forward into the light of day, and as fallible as he was, as much as he was wrong and confused and wounded and tired, so were they all. And they were counting on him.

\----


End file.
